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Sketch of Sin
Darkness. A voice begins speaking. Voice: Our universe was corrupted for eons. Cut to two aliens mugging a pregnant woman, who attempts to notify bystanders with her helpless echoes, then one of the criminals bluntly stab her in the stomach as her eerie shrieks pierce the cold, hollow night. Voice: I, myself, contributed to sins. I am a sinner...I'm probably going to sin again. A silhouette passes a small bag of a foreign drug to a smaller, rounder alien. Voice: I've confessed my wrong doings. My morality changed. I grew to love one of my friends. We had mutual losses. We considered friends to be family. Death was unsettling. We resorted to..to a sanctuary. To Zenith. A shot panning of the community mid-construction. Hammers pound down onto boards as the willows of flames trickle onto the unroasted meat which was to be soon devoured. '' ''Voice: It was full of..dreams. Celestial....bucolic. A sense of awe. The foundation was to get away from crime, from sinning. I built it from the ground. Life grew here, we learned to love it. No one was forced to stay. No one wanted to leave. But we all know there must be a balance of right and wrong. Darkness soon fell upon us. Cut to a man tearing down the walls. He unleashes a low, loud growl as his muscular arm crashes onto the ground, causing it to rumble a little. Shrieks of fear and despair fill the warm, moist air. Voice: The force overtook us. Killed my wife. '' ''A dark room, softly illuminated by a burning candle living its last few moments with the wick kindled what felt like centuries ago. Snax, revealed to be the voice, looks down, his wrist covered in scars. He brushes his fur over it, attempting to hide this struggle of his. Someone is across the table, but the candle's gleam doesn't reach their face. Snax: I led you to greatness. We started something great. These people here, they are our family. But after-after Morningstar. I am no longer able to lead these people. I am a broken man. There are some things I don't understand. Marge, in the midst of anarchy, you came through. You helped this people, motivated them to go on. You now, are the leader of Zenith. Marge leans forward, scratching her chin, being the woman across the table. The anger boils in her mind as she considers the brim words spoken by the morose man. Marge: No...no! I'm not letting you just..just waste away! You are the founder, the leader, we need you more than you need us. People look up to you, they respect you. What would Gunny want you to do? Snax: She made this. Not me. Don't tell me that you need me, because you don't! I was helpless. Morningstar broke me. I have no reason for living anymore. '' ''Marge: What about your son? You're just gonna leave the damn boy with no parents!? Snax, you're sounding crazy. The boy will already be screwed up, why contribute to it? If you go through with this, you better find someone else to lead. Snax angrily pounds his fist onto the wooden desk, chipping off the corner as a small cloud of dust puffs up. As his anger continues boiling, his claws slowly extend. Marge: What? You're going to hurt me? Snax grits his teeth, pulling back his claws. Snax: Zenith will crumble into chaos with no leader. It will ruin the whole purpose of its creation. Her death will be in vain. Marge begins weeping as she attempts to contain her bawling. Marge: Why me? Why not Scott, or Ashas? Or even goddamn Chandler? You picked me! Why? A few years ago, I was a helpless little girl living in my daddy's arms. I am not a leader. Snax, I was terrified during Morningstar and I'm terrified now. These things shouldn't happen here. We were suppose to be safe but we're not. We thought we were ready by we aren't. I'm not ready, for any of this! So...why me!? Snax ponders this for a minute, chewing on his finger nails. '' ''Snax: It wasn't Scott, Ahsas or Chandler who made the beaten down, wounded people here rebuild those walls. It wasn't me. It was you, Marge. It was you. Marge looks at Snax, and nods. Marge: I won't fuck this up. '' ''Snax: I'm counting on it. I assume you'll announce this tomorrow, right? Marge: Yeah. I'll tell Scott, but everyone deserves to know as soon as possible. Snax: Thank you....thank you. FIVE YEARS LATER... Scott turns a corner, strolling down the pavement. His face is a worn, with hints of morose and sully wrinkles lightly crinkling in from the series of stress and anxiety Scott had faced. Scott sports a developed beard which flowed into his mustache. The beard, slightly lighter than an almond shell in color, was great in length. His hair was also recently trimmed, no longer falling over his ears. His pistol, loaded with six rounds, lay in its holster on Scott's utility belt. As Scott makes his way past the elderly center, a few of the elders outstretch their arms, waving slowly to Scott. He takes his hand off the gun and returns the friendly wave. A human man, Obadiah, opens the door, jogging out to Scott. He sarcastically greets Scott. Obadiah was an elder middle-aged man, but not old enough to be considered to be checked into the elderly center. With a shiny bald head and bags clamming under his eyes, Obadiah's expression showed dismay at Scott. There was stubble from over to ear to under his chin and it looked as if his eyebrows were laying on his eyes. A few inches from his nose sprouted a goatee. Veins popped out of his forehead. His arms and chest were layered with greyish white hairs. Obadiah's lucky watch lay on his right wrist, which it had for the past twenty years. He, unhesitant,approaches Scott, gritting his teeth lightly. Obadiah: Mr. Sheriff, sir. Scott: What do you need Obadiah? Obadiah stifles a mutter. Obadiah: Just wondering how dirty I have to get to be as clean as you. Scott: I'm not in the mood, Obadiah. Do you want me to arrest you? Obadiah replies with more sarcasm. Obadiah: No sir. Wouldn't want to be locked up in the jail again where the suicidal tiger watches me and moans about his dead wife. Scott hesitates for a moment, whether to attack physically or just verbally cool the situation down. Obadiah: The old folks are out of toilet paper. Scott: Talk to Denise. And watch your mouth from now on. Have a nice day, Mr. Sringer. Obadiah: Fuck off. Obadiah flips him off then returns to the building, jogging lightly as he climbs the three steps. Holding onto an alien's wheelchair, he wheels in a grey alien with seven limbs similar to arms and tentacles sprouting out of her waist. Scott shakes his head as he briskly turns, continuing his patrol and keeps it in the back of his mind to have Marge confront Obadiah about his behavior. A close-up of a gravestone, fresh and clean with Tech-I's name inscribed into it. The dirt raises a little bit where the body was placed. Behind it, the group is building the first segment of a wall. Marge is reading some blueprints as Scott hoists up a beam to Snax. Gunny smiles at Snax, holding her circular stomach. Snax: Any more kicks today? Gunny: I think she has the hiccups. Gunny clutches her stomach lightly. '' ''Snax: He. Gunny: It could be a girl. Snax shrugs, grabbing his hammer and begins pounding on the beam again. Chandler emerges from the woods, a dead squirrel-like alien hanging on his back. Ahsas notices a large cut on the side of his face with blood dripping down. Chandler: Let's roast this son of a bitch. Tried to slice my face off. Close-up of a worn, smothered in dirt, gravestone with Tech-I ''inscribed into it. The edges were rough and uneven with the fresh cobblestone color now faded. Behind it were other graves. A large wall looms off the corpses and on the other side of them were trees. The bodies were outside the walls, per Gunny's request a decade ago. Ahsas stands in front of the windmill, fixing one of the panels. The board was wiggly. She feels it lock into place as she lightly moves it, making sure it is stable. Content, Ahsas turns, heading to the mess hall for her rations. She thinks about Rocky and Seeryt. Rocky was a large Talpaedan, Ahsas' only lover. He wasn't that smartest apple on the birch, but he understood her. Seeryt was her brother, the man who raised her, her only family. Ahsas made sure she thinks about them everyday so she'll remember their faces. The sweat always beading down Seeryt's face, with the masculine jawline pointing out and a scar shaped like a pear behind his ear. Rocky's ears twitching lightly as she would coo into them. The pain never really went away, it only dimmed. As Ahsas wipes away a tear, she continues strolling down the paved path. Sweat begins to bead down her forehead as she enters the mess hall. It was a tall, open wooden structure with almond colored wood columns supporting the triangular oak wood roof. A nice breeze passes through the cafeteria, a relief to the dry, hot air. Wiping the perspiration off her face, Ahsas shuffles into the line and grabs a tray. After a few seconds of mindlessly moving, she looks up to see the Zenith chef, Spade. The woman was new, and Ahsas didn't trust her. Some accused her mistrust as racism, because Spade was a Chimea Sui Generis. Ahsas feel the paranoia and mistrust radiating off of Spade and instantly took a disliking to her. Spade wore a golden-brown armor shoulder pads and breastplate, which Ahsas thought confirmed her paranoia of Zenith. Underneath the breast plate, Spade wore a thin red fabric which covered her belly. Gauntlets covered his wrist with a thick, black leather gloves. Spade scoops us some grub from a pallet and smacks it down onto Ahsas's brass, chipped tray, seething at Ahsas. Spade: Enjoy your meal. Ahsas: Is there anything else I can have? Spade puts down the scooper and looks up at Ahsas, frowning in dismay. Spade: My shit. Ahsas whispers under breath, stifling her anger which began boiling through her veins, surging through her body and she manages to calmly let out an exhale. Ahsas: Bitch. She turns and strolls toward the tables. Glancing around, she spots Chandler sitting alone at a table. He nods at her before he brushes his coffee colored hair out his face, placing it behind his ears. Ahsas: You know we have a barber here. Chandler: Funny. How's your day going so far? Ahsas: I hate the food. Chandler: I'd kill for some meat....or even a beer or two. She notices his tray is untouched. Ahsas: Not hungry? Chandler: You said it yourself, the food is shit. A small Cerebrocrustacean saunters over, her coral colored six legs scattering in unison. There was a prim yet shy radiance bouncing off her as she looks directly into Chandler. Her gaze never fades as Chandler bites on his nails, turning to face her. Chandler's grim expression lightens a little as he gently mumbles to her. Chandler: What do you need, Denise? She sends a quick glance at Ahsas, in which she began to tremble a little. Chandler: It's okay. She's a friend. Unsure and hesitant, Denise's large, bulging eyes stare at Ahsas, who attempts to give off a caring smile but hated the feeling of the fakeness of it.The little pricks on Denise's head spike up as Chandler lays his big beefy hand on her small, fragile shoulder. Taking a deep, smooth, gulp, Denise sputters out her response. Denise: The supply crew needs you to go on the run today. Chandler nods, bringing her feeble body into a hug as he clutches into a warm, tender hug. She inhales deeply as Chandler reassures her then stands, briskly turning to Ahsas and hugs her as well then walks off, Denise, nearly half his height, by his side. Ahsas watches silently as they turn into small specs in the distance then continues to her meal. The texture was like oatmeal, the grub being creamy and thick but with clumps of solid in it. Ahsas felt like the mushiness of it didn't help her consume it. In fact, she resented the food but she wasn't willing to starve because of it. In silence, she downs her food until someone clears their throat in front of her. She looks up to see a man, well-built, big, caring eyes but with weariness hidden, latent, behind them. She saw mystery in his eye. Ahsas always had a special knack for seeing things in people. Things they didn't want her to see. The man stutters, obviously not good with people. Ahsas' mood grows grim as she wasn't in the mood for making friends. Ahsas: Can I help you? Man: Is that seat taken? Ahsas: No. The man, dressed in a series of thick fabrics covering his body with a big hunk of armor protecting his shoulders and lower part of his neck, sits across from Ahsas. Man: I've been here about a year now and I'll still don't know everyone's name. Ahsas returns to munching on her slimy grub, attempting to civilly keep to herself. Ahsas: That's great. Man: My name is Shiloh, I'm the, uh, the engineer. I run the solar panels here. Ahsas: I'm Ahsas. I watch over the windmill. Shiloh: Yeah, I think I've seen you working on it a couple times. If you ever need any help, I'm always- Ahsas: I'm good. Shiloh: Anyway, uh, how'd you end up here? She looks at him, thoughts racing: ''Who the hell does he think he is?. Ahsas: I've been here since day one. Shiloh, filled with awe, begins imaging the colony in it's early days. Ahsas sees the thoughts flickering through his mind as his expression changes. His jawline seemed rough, uneven with his chin barely connecting. Shiloh had a long, slender neck with an adam's-apple bulging out of it. Shiloh: What was that like? Ahsas: Different. One housing unit, a cemetery and a damn lake. Any other questions? Any? The rage began boiling in her once more as she grits her teeth, trying to hold everything it, to just put it away and make it seem like everything is going to be okay. But then she realizes it won't be, that many of her loved ones are dead, that death is constant and she can't hold it in anymore. Shiloh shakes his head, obviously realized he crossed the line as he backs off, profusely apologizing before Ahsas feels the warmth of the tears dripping down her face. She stands and sprints off,, overwhelmed as she thinks of her deceased friends, the incessant pain burdened on her. Shiloh sits there, feeling awful, like someone shanked him with a shiv, twisted it then burned the wound. As he feels nasty taste in his mouth, Shiloh mumbles to himself, exasperate with his behavior. Shiloh What's wrong with me? The breeze from the wind dies down as many disperse from the mess hall, lunch hour being over. As he puts his head down in shame, two men begin brawling a few tables over. The first man, an orange-colored, triangular-shaped head with spikes and indents and curves with bug eyes, Tarner, cries out as he feels the shock of the second man, a scarlet covered, three-fingered man with sharp thumbs named Dyron brutally collides his fist into the first man's side. Spade comes sprinting out, standing between them. Dyron, seething and irate, pushes Spade out of the way as he takes a lethargic swing at Tarner who swoops backwards then pops back up, headbutting Dyron. Dyron stumbles back, colliding into some pots and pans that were against the wall. He grabs a pot and swings at Tarner who grabs Dyron's wrist and twists it. Dyron howls as the pot clatters onto the ground as he then kicks Tarner in the stomach. Weariness washed over both of them who were now covered in blood and sweat, although neither of them could be sure if it were their own or their opponents. Tarner smelled the reek of Dyron's body, who probably hadn't showered in days, maybe even weeks. Dyron smiles, taunting him. Dyron: Come at me! Do it! DO IT! Charging, Tarner takes a big swing and feels his knuckles connect into Dyron's body. Dyron feels the unplanned connection between the rows of his teeth. Blood dripped out of the corner above his eye. Dyron winces as he touches it. Tarner saw the heavy panting from Dyron and knew the man was tired. Tarner fakes a swing upward then pushes Dyron back and leaps up, swatting him down. Dyron reflected back at Tarner, eyes burning with rage as he swindles to the left and delivers a huge blow to Tarner's gut who felt the wind immediately get knocked out of him. With his gut now discomforted, Tarner threw another punch but the tiredness was taking its toll as the sluggish punch was easily dodged and returned with a tackle. Tarner gasps as he smashes into the ground. Spade pulls at Dyron's arm to get him off of Tarner but Dyron pushes her away, his might overcoming his logic. Spade: Stop! She begins shrieking as she grabs a frying pan and belligerently, desperately swings at the back of Dyron's head as he crumples to the ground immediately. Spade rubs the back of her forehead as she sees the blood on the frying pan and she shrieks, dropping to the ground and cradling her knees. Tarner stares at her then at Dyron then to his own hands. His knuckles were bloody and raw from the punches and as the adrenaline fades away, Tarner is overcome by weariness and pain. ---- The prison smelled of decay and vomit. Scott hesitantly approached the door, his pistol eagerly awaiting to be used. Twisting slowly, he sees Snax sitting at his desk. Snax was silent, reading a book. Currently, there were no inmates in the jail, which contained of two cells. It was rarely used but it was a good position for Snax, since it was a low-responsibility job. Inside the cells was a bed with one pillow and a blanket. Next to it was a bucket. Scott stays near the door, as the prison creeped him out. Leaning against the wall, Scott crosses his arms as he looks around. Scott: Hey, you good? Snax looks up from his book, nodding slowly before returning to it. Scott: Snax, when was the last time you left this place? Said hello to your boy? Ate a meal? There is dead silence as Snax continues reading his book without a word. Scott: Your son asked for you yesterday when Denise was watching him. He doesn't know where you are, or if you are even alive. Your goddamn son, an eight-year old boy, was asking if his dad was alive or not. And to be honest, I still don't know the answer. In his mind, Snax was ready to explode into a million emotions of fear, anger, sadness, anxious, and uncertainty. Finally, Scott decides to leave after seconds, then moments, of painful, awkward, terrifying silence. Emptiness. He sensed that Snax wanted to be alone. Scott: Alright, good talk. Will I see you at dinner? No response as Snax is barely able to face his friend. Scott feels the morose behavior and turns to the door. Scott: Goodbye, Snax. Snax weakly grins as Scott closes the door behind him. Hard. Snax sensed that Scott was irate, and a little confused. Snax: Sometimes I just need to be alone. Snax flickers a picture of his child between his fingers, fiddling with it as thoughts stream through his mind..In the spine of the book, Snax pulls out a razor blade. He looks at his reflection off of the shiny metal blade. Tears stream down his face as he slits his wrists, bubbles of blood seeping up. Then, Snax cuts himself twice more before grabbing a white rag, now stained pink, to clean up the mess. He presses the towel against his cuts to give the stinging pain an edge. The cuts aren't what kill him, it what makes him alive. Snax covers the slices with the fur on his arm as he hides the razor blade back into the book. He rolls down his sleeve to cover his wrist. Snax opens the curtains on the window, which was adjacent to his desk. The mirror across from him gleams gently from the sunshine coming from the window. Snax, hesitant, looks at the mirror. He hated what he saw. Then it became worse. Slowly, every so slowly, Snax lifted up his shirt, revealed a six-pack, developed abs with defined and chiseled muscles. Between all of that, was the scars of blades, burns, bruises....all self inflicted. Snax punches the wall as he lowers shirt, emitting a low growl mixed with a high-pitched squeal as he stumbles to the ground, weeping. ---- Bitterness, stubbornness, vexation. These emotions all swirled Tarner's mind, clouding it from clear judgment. He sits across from Marge and next to Dyron. Between him and the leader of Zenith was a thick, long desk, covered in candles and a notebook, which had the pungent, musty odor of fresh paint. Tarner scans the room. Behind Marge was a black bookshelf then a fireplace beyond there. To his left, directly next to Marge, was a window. Sunshine gleamed through it. On the wall adjacent to him was bulletin boards, uncountable amounts of paper pinned down onto it. Behind him and Dyron was the door with a soft, silky rug. A family picture hung gleamfully from a nail near the door. A basket of blueprints sit, untouched, caked with dust, next to Denise's desk which was on the other side of the room. He turns his attention to Marge, who opens her notebook and scribbles something down then looks up. Marge: Did you both check the infirmary for any serious injuries? Dyron hesitates but slowly nods. Tarner shakes his head, clenching his knuckles until they turn white, which causes the scabs to break as puffs of blood ooze down his fingers. Marge: You should see Ember after this then, Tarner. We have a doctor for a reason, you know. Tarner nods as the stinging of his jaw fades his vision lightly. Dizziness began to overwhelm him but Tarner shook his head vigorously, facing Marge once more. She begins reading notes off of her notebook. Marge: Spade told me Tarner was first to throw a punch. She looks up to Tarner, who doesn't break his gaze at her. Marge: Why? Tarner: Dyron wanted me to cover four extra shifts in the tower. She turns to Dyron, who was caressing his chin. Dyron takes a deep exhale before speaking in a calm, monotone expression which angered Tarner even more. Dyron: All I did was request that Tarner cover one, I repeat, one shift because I was feeling ill. Tarner: Bullshit. Marge exhales deeply, clenching the skin between her eyes then looks up. Marge: I have both of set up in the tower because you two have a good shot. We need protection from above. Everybody has a role here and if you aren't willing to help, then you should leave. If you felt ill, why weren't you going to Ember? I'm disappointed in both you, especially you, Dyron. We were working on your anger problem before. Dyron shows a look of dismay and slightly disgust when she mentions this. Tarner sees the corner of Dyron's lip quiver in fueling anger as his forehead creases. Dyron: I covered around the clock for almost a week! Marge: Tarner was actually sick to the point where he couldn't get out of bed. Your selfish, pompous demeanor is getting you nowhere, Dyron. Now, you will stick to your original shifts or there will be consequences. Tarner outbursts, unable to contain himself. Tarner: Why are there only two of us? Marge: Do you want to teach anyone how to shoot? Both men shake their heads just as Marge had expected them to do. She carefully murmurs to herself the notes she wrote down. Tarner: But what about Ahsas? Marge: She's a....special case. Marge looks away for a second before returning to the conversation. Tarner notices this and wonders what happened to Ahsas. Sighing, Dyron stands and looks weary, as strains wear against his face showing age, even though he was in his prime age. Dyron: Can we go? Without speaking, Marge nods as she returns to jotting notes down in her notebook. As they shut the door behind them, Marge finishes up her notes then stands, starring at the picture of her family hanging from the wall. Marge: I'm sorry. She closes her eyes, resting her head against the photo. ---- Chandler creases his hair back by pushing it down with strokes from his hand. In front of him was Zenith's only car currently in stable condition. It was a white van with dented in sides and shattered windows with the lack of one side mirror. Chandler hoists up a bag filled with weapons, automatic weapons, in the case where his group come across trouble. He kicks some gravel off the pavement as she sighs. Looking up, he spots the supply crew making their way to the van. Chandler knew them all pretty well, as he's done quite a few runs before. One of them, Zani, helps Chandler lift a particularly heavy bag. Chandler: Thanks. Zani: No problem. Elize, help me with this? At little distracted, Elize responds as she looks up and see Zani pointing at a crate filled to the brim with . Elize: Yeah, sure. Zani was a unique man. He wore a rolled up, long-sleeved plaid shirt with red and black patterns overlapping each other with a white t-shirt exposed as the buttons were undone. He had small bits of stubble as he shaved a few days ago. The musk of cologne reeked off of him, as he maintained his hygiene very well. His hair was fluffy and thick in the center but shaved down on the sides and his head was covered by a navy blue beanie. He had thick eyebrows with black blobs under his eyes. Behind him was the others: Elize, Colbat, Jaxar, and Corbus. Elize was the only female on the supply crew team. Half her head was shaven with the other half drooping down strands of soft, mellifluously flowing over her ears down to her neck. Her fuchsia skin was covered in tiffany blue etches and marks that were there since birth, being a normal part of her species composition. She wore a thin, elastic yet protective armor with baggy shoulder pads and gauntlets which covered her entire arms. Elize's breastplate was overlapped by a series of protective, metal beams which held all the armor in place. She and Zani place the crate down. Colbat begins bending over, closing up one of the open boxes. His pale green skin was partly masked by scales and the other was seemingly hard similar to that of a Earth crustacean. Rigged teeth show off his under bite from a jaw deformity. Colbat's armor was a thick, protective armor with a silver breastplate overlaying a secondary layer of armor which covered a thick, protective golden fabric. With huge arching shoulder pads and gauntlets reaching those shoulder pads, Colbat always manage to escape uninjured. He had deep, hollow eyes which could gaze into one's soul. Chandler: Jaxar, you got the keys? Jaxar: Yeah. Jaxar was a peach colored alien with a weaved together robe sewn together with fine thread. The bottom half was discolored because of a different sewing material being used. On his right arm was a protective guard as his broken arm never fully healed. Jaxar was a kind man, as was Zani, but he was a timid, terrified man. Corbus was the final member. A self-sustained, self-centered, ego-filled man with ghastly skin and cerulean hair with lime highlights. He wore a tight light gray shirt to show off his muscles to the women of Zenith. Stress creases bulge out from over his eyes. Dark bags clamor under his eyes. Colbat warily approaches Chandler, who was dusting off the driver's seat. Colbat: Marge says to conserve gas. I was thinkin' maybe we could siphon some or something. Chandler, gruff, replies. Chandler: Like there's any damn cars out there. This shit hole is ravaged beyond belief. We're lucky we still find food after this long. Our future is in the farms. Corbus scrunches his nose in his disgust as he spoke. His facial expression seem as if a rotten taste was in his mouth, ever lasting. Corbus: I'm not a farmer. Jaxar: Let's just get this over with. Chandler pulls the door open and slides into the driver seat. Next to him, Corbus sits shockgun, grinning like a psycho killing devising their next move. In the second row was Jaxar and Colbat with Zani and Elize sitting in the third row. Zani and Elize whisper among themselves as Jaxar remains silent to Colbat's prattling. Corbus stares out the window, silent, as he chews on his nails. Chandler sticks the key into the ignition and begins reversing. Denise opens the gate as the van cruises off. The road from here on was a dangerous, uneven one. The tires begin rattling as the ground grows bumpier. Ahead of them, a carrion carcass lay rotting away as another creatures picks at it, devouring the rotten meat. Corbus dazes at it as the car swooshes by. Zani whispers something Elize, who begins speaking up. Elize: Alright listen up. The plan is simple. We work on the same route we went by last time. Chandler: Last time? Zani: We went to this place before but couldn't finish our sweep because it was getting dark. It's not safe out here at night. Jaxar: It's not safe out here during the day either. Zani: We're splitting up into two teams. This is a new idea we're trying out. Colbat: That's dangerous. Corbus: You scared? You gon' shit your pants or something? Colbat remains silent as sweat begins to drip down his face. Jaxar uncomfortably shifts around, clutching tightly to a crumpled up piece of paper. As they drive in silence for a few minutes, Colbat speaks up. Colbat: What exactly are we looking for? Normally Denise tells us if the priority is medicine or food or- Chandler: Anything we can find. Elize, tell 'em about the place we're going to. Elize: It's a retail store, with departments for everything: furniture, food, medicine, anything else we might need. They have an engineering section and Dagon requested we look for some sort of battery pack...hold on...I wrote it down somewhere... She tugs around, tenacious, searching for it as Chandler drives over a bumpy path. After more moments in silence, in the distance, a ravaged city appears. Buildings were burned down, torn apart, as various types of corpses are slumped everywhere. The brakes whine as the van screeches to a halt. In front of them was a torn-up building with the name inscribed on it in a foreign language. Elize distributes the weapons to everyone as they exit the van. Chandler strokes his beard, pondering the game plan. He turns to Zani, who is polishing his gun with a rag. Chandler: You said we're splitting into two teams? Zani: Yeah. Chandler: Alright....I'll lead one time and you lead the other. You, Elize and Jaxar take the eastern quadrant while Colbat, Corbus and myself while snoop around the western quadrant. Sound good? Everyone nods as they turn the safety off their guns and divide into two separate teams. Zani, Elize, and Jaxar sprint to the side of the building. Elize: Watch your ammo and don't shoot unless you have to. The noise will draw in more creatures. Jaxar and Zani both nod as the three of them approach a door chained close. Zani smashes the butt of his gun into the chains, breaking them. The door creaks wide open. Elize turns on the flashlight on her weapon. Jaxar and Zani repeat what they just observed. Elize: Stay in formation. Jaxar nods as he slowly wanders off into one of the aisles. Making sure neither Zani nor Elize can spot him, he unravels the piece of paper he was guarding ever so dearly before. The words in black print glowed in front of his eyes: anti-depressants.' ''A friend of his,Chyeene, made this request. because of her depression. Jaxar feels bad about Chyeene because she seems to be a lost cause. After a few seconds of gandering at the paper, he stuffs it into his pocket then turns and jogs back to Zani and Elize. Zani: Where'd you go? Jaxar: I, uh- There is a large rattle as a wooden crate falls from one of the shelves behind them. Jaxar turns, aiming his weapon at it. Elize pushes it down. Elize: Don't shoot! Jaxar, are you okay? You're sweating a lot. Jaxar, stammering, clears his throat and speaks in fear. Jaxar: Yeah...yeah... Elize: Just...calm down, okay? They scurry forward, not wasting a breath, as they reach a booth. Behind it lay rows and rows, filled with items. Zani: A pharmacy? Elize: Guess so. Stay close. Bag whatever you can and let's do this quick. We have a little under an hour to meet at the rendezvous point. Zani walks over to one of the bottles, reading the inscription. He scoops the entire shelf into his bag. Then, he turns to face Elize and Jaxar. Zani: Take only what we need. Some of this is useless and we don't have room for it in our bags. Jaxar gulps deeply as he nods before shuffling through the rows of medicine. Nearby, Elize shakes one of the bottles and hears the r''attle rattle ''of the pills sloshing around inside. Dropping it into her bag, Elize finds a first aid-kit, She holds it up to Zani who nods, seemingly approved of this snag. Jaxar spots the item that Chyeene requested of him. Looking around, he snatches all of them that he can spot as grabs other arbitrary items and shakes his bag a little to mix the items. Zani: Jaxar, you good back there? Jaxar: Yeah..uh..not feeling so good myself. Elize: We're almost done anyway. We should move onto the next unit. Zani: I think that's the housing unit. We can some more desks or something. Load 'em up in the van. Elize: Yeah, sure. Don't count on it. Zani: I'm sure there will be something. Elize: Your optimism isn't going to change reality. Zani: Why are you suddenly being a pessimist? We've managed to survive this long, why start doubting now? Elize: Because this is all we have. These supply runs. We rely too heavily on stores like this. Sure, in the beginning, you could find maybe a few desks which we could use or even get really lucking and find the shit we need to build another wall. But we are not the only ones here. Murderers, rapists, thieves. This is their home. This is why there are walls in the first place. Optimism is stupid, and stupid gets you killed. Jaxar backs up, not wanting to interfere. Zani: This is our home too. Elize: Zenith will never be my home. She storms off, brewing with anger. Zani attempts to go after her but stops himself. Jaxar approaches him. Jaxar: Are you okay? Zani: She's just upset. We were best friends until a couple of weeks ago. She confessed to me her feelings. I love her, but not in that way. The truth is... Jaxar: Yeah? Zani: I'm gay. Jaxar stands there for a second, silent. Zani looks down to the ground, unable to face Jaxar. Jaxar: So? You're still Zani. You're still my friend. This doesn't change anything. Zani looks up to him, awed. Zani: Thanks. Jaxar: Come on, let's go find her. They pick up their weapons and head off after Elize, who sits in between two aisles of homing goods. A broken cradle sit next to her. Tears stream down her face. ''Why am I so stupid? ''She smashes her fist into the cradle, oblitrerating it into pieces. Her face is huddled in her knees as she continues weeping. ''Never will Zenith be my home. ''The words echo in her mind. She feels terrible. She loves Zani. She's in love with Zani. But he'll never, ever love her. And it's not his fault. So, why is she mad? Elize smashes another cradle into the ground and kicks it into the wall, taking her rage out on the furniture. Zani and Jaxar warrily approach her. Zani motions Jaxar to back off as Zani sits next to Elize, who sniffles. Zani: Hey. Elize: Hey. Zani: Do you wanna talk about it? Elize: No. She sniffles. Elize: It's just that, I use to think you were such an egotistical asshole, turning down all these girls at Zenith. Zani: Yeah... Elize: I'm sorry. Zani: I'm sorry too. She lets out a chuckle as she wipes her eyes. They stare into each others eyes and embrace into a hug. Jaxar starres at them from the end of the aisle. ---- Obadiah is kneeling in the elderly center bathroom, placing rolls of toilet paper under the sink. He hears a cry from the other room. Cautiously standing up, he hesitantly goes into the room. Obadiah sees the name on the door: ''Sket Shilbup. Obadiah: Sket? You okay in here? He turns the corner and sees the elderly man on the ground, gagging. Obadiah begins violently shaking the man, breaking down into tears as he screams. Obadiah: Oh no...no no no...no...Sket! SKET! No...no no no..please get up. Please.....please Sket please get up...no....no... As he sits in despair for a few moments in silence, he wipes away his tears before standing, understanding what he must do. Obadiah needs to put his friend out of his misery. Sket was a good man. Years we've been friends....years. ''Obadiah thinks to himself. He peaks around the room, to make sure no one is around. Obadiah kneels next to the gagging senior citizen. He chants a prayer as he pulls out his dagger from his booth. Then as he finishes the prayer, a tear drips down his eye as Obadiah bluntly stabs the elderly in their forehead, putting them out of their misery. Obadiah: I'm sorry, old friend. Then he returns to his thoughts. ''You didn't deserve this. You were a noble man, Sket. You did the right things when I did the wrong. I'm sorry. Wiping away more tears, Obadiah opens the closet pantry once more and pulls out a thick, white sheet and a foldable stretcher. Obadiah struggles, but manages to lift the deceased man onto the stretcher and then places the sheet over the body. The area where his head is slowly stains pink as blood smears against it. Obadiah opens up the backdoor as he makes his way to the secondary gate. The grass and moss grew thicker with every step as he huffs to push the body toward the cemetery.Obadiah's mind races with thoughts as he begrudgingly pulls tan gloves out of his back pocket, sliding his fingers into the soft material. Tearing away the sheet, Obadiah stares into the lifeless eyes of the deceased. He turns, grabbing a shovel that was hidden in the bushes as he stomps it into the group, scooping out some dirt. Obadiah's grief continues to leave him mortified. Obadiah: You weren't suppose to die, not like this. Other tombstones lay muffled all around him as he makes a note to report to Denise for a gravestone. His excuse for it would be some sort of festivity event, he could manipulate her like that. He would coo her with his words, twist his mind, morph her ideals. This isn't the first time he changed someone for his own agenda. Names begin popping in his head: B'aan, Guorma, Muong, Rich, Halberma, Crichton, Wallas,...Sket. Obadiah turns and faces the graves, some of the tombstones still fresh. He struggles to keep down the tears. His head was burning with pain as the heat clamored over his body, dripping in sweat. The sun shines overhead. Creatures from the woods chirp and squeal. The pungent odor of moss and plants fill the air. The air was warm, a little salty even. As he continues digging the hole, Obadiah gets slammed with a wave of remorse, of guilt. He looks around, yet unable to face the body, as he picks up the pace. Dust was in the air. The stench of sweat. With a deep exhale, Obadiah takes a break as he smacks onto the ground, starring at Sket's body. Bugs begin nipping at the corpse as the scent of sweat changes to that of a decomposing body. Obadiah remembers Sket wasn't human, and his species decomposes quicker. Obadiah: Shit. He begins digging again.